


The Arc of Conflict, Fragment e14d,1: Failure Cascade

by bzarcher, solarbird



Series: Of Gods and Monsters [81]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Concordat, Consequences, Gen, Martyrdom, Martyrs, Military, Other, Police Brutality, Post-Talon, Revolutionary Rhetoric, Riots, Russia, Self-Sacrifice, Students, Talon Fareeha "Pharah" Amari, Teleportation, Unforseen consequences, War, Well-Meaning Stupidity, resignation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-01
Updated: 2019-04-01
Packaged: 2019-12-30 04:13:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,019
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18307973
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bzarcher/pseuds/bzarcher, https://archiveofourown.org/users/solarbird/pseuds/solarbird
Summary: Alliances, it has been said, are at their weakest on the brink of defeat, and on the brink of victory. After defeating the China Sea omnium, the gods of Oasis offered their help to Russia, to defeat their own Siberian threat, and Russia accepted that offer -  but made additional secret plans of their own.Those who cannot be saved, but must never be forgot.Of Gods and Monsters: The Arc of Conflictis a continuance ofThe Arc of Ascension,The Arc of Creation, andThe Armourer and the Living Weapon. It will be told in a series of eddas, sagas, interludes, fragments, texts, and cantos, all of which serve their individual purposes. To follow the story as it appears,please subscribe to the series.





	The Arc of Conflict, Fragment e14d,1: Failure Cascade

**Author's Note:**

> dirtyclaws has launched [a public fan-run _Of Gods and Monsters_ discord server](https://discord.gg/pDZMpVT) and invites everyone to come join it. ^_^

Far Eastern Federal University’s Concordat building buzzed, anxious, nervous, like a beehive which had been smacked, not once, but two, three, or four times, the interior vibrating with frantic activity as members of the administration, the faculty, and students ran back and forth through the halls, some carrying building supplies, others tools, some with emergency supplies, medicines, or boxes of food.

 _Perhaps a hornet’s nest would be more apt_ , Ilya Korotsev-Sousa thought as he put more weight on his cane and leaned over the fourth floor railing to get a better look at the activity below. _After all, we are preparing to fight back against those who are threatening to tear us all back down._

After twenty-three years of exile, he really hadn’t been sure he wanted to come back to Russia. Not after the way he’d been hounded for daring to suggest that murdering every omnic in the world was a plan that would do Russia more harm than good. 

So he’d traveled to his mother’s country, and started life all over again, at fifty. He'd taught, and lectured. Done some good, he thought. Done his best to promote and amplify the words of people like Dos Santos, the musician, the one from Rio. To boost the next generation of revolutionaries, dreamers, and poets, as his own mentors and older comrades had done for him and his friends when they were young and full of glorious enthusiasm. 

He’d been shocked to be approached with the offer to teach at FEFU - particularly on a grant sponsored by the Vishkar Corporation - but after conversations with Satya Vaswani and the university provost, he’d decided to give it a go.

All things considered, he thought the experiment had been going well. 

Right up until Siberia.

Right up until the boots had started kicking in doors. Again.

Ilya sighed as he reached his office. A message, he saw, was waiting for him.

As the most senior member of the faculty, he’d ended up as the _de facto_ president and dean after the top ranks of the administration had been ‘requested’ to meet with the Education Ministry in Moscow, along with the Chargés d'Affaires.

Ilya had no illusions about how _that_ would go. 

He locked the office door, then walked over and looked through the slight gap in the boards over his windows to see the massing riot police and motor guards on the quad, with a military line standing not far behind them. The boards would not help much, if the hardlight failed, but it could - would, he hoped - slow them down, at the end.

It wouldn’t be long now. 

He threw himself into his chair, ran a hand through his increasingly thin white and silver hair, and opened his desktop. To his surprise, it immediately launched into an already-ongoing video conference, and a woman's face filled the screen. 

“Professor Korotsev!”

Ilya’s eyebrows rose. “Brigadier Amari, isn’t it?”

The hawk nosed woman nodded, light dancing intensely in her opal eyes. “We’ve been trying to reach - well, anyone still at the university. Are you in charge now?”

“As much as anyone is,” he answered with a grim smile. “I assume you’ve heard about the situation here.”

“Yes. How many people are left with you in the main building?”

“Most students who hadn’t left early were caught nearby, and detained. We don't know what's happened to them. With the research and support staff, the students who made it back inside, and what is left of the faculty... two hundred? Perhaps three.”

Amari nodded. “Bring your teleporters back online at once. We're standing by to help evac-“

Ilya raised a hand to stop her. “This is not... how do they say it? Not my first rodeo? The first thing we did after boarding up the windows and setting up the hardlight reinforcements was cut power to the teleporters, and smash the base units.”

Amari’s eyes widened, her golden complexion turning ashen. “You _what?_ ”

Ilya frowned. “You didn’t think we’d let the _chekists_ have them, did you?”

“Those teleporters were intended to help all of you evacuate to safety, _before_ any sort of disaster - _before_ they try to move in! The shielding is only enough to buy you _time_ , not protect you forever. It will not...”

Ilya shook his head sadly. “It wouldn't have been enough, even with the delays. The building is already surrounded. Better we do this, than risk giving the Russian Army teleporter access straight to the Ministry.”

Amari’s mouth worked for a moment but she said nothing, finally bowing her head slightly. “You... you don't... we don’t have a way to protect you, now.”

“You’re a good woman, Brigadier. But we knew what to expect. We're using the time well - we've been burning paper records, and destroying sensitive files. And yes, when it comes to it, we'll fight.”

Amari’s expression remained drawn. “No. Surrender. Please. If you do, they might see you as valuable, as..."

"As hostages?"

"As prisoners of war. There are protections, in theory. We might be able to work out an exchange. It will be hard, but...”

Another sharp shake of the head. “No. Most of us who are left... we know what the prisons are like, here. Many firsthand. None of us wish to return.”

Before either of them could speak again, there was a dull _whump_ that carried through the walls as the building shook. 

“I’m afraid it’s started, Brigadier Amari.” He stood, reflexively tugging down his jacket with one hand as he reached for his cane. “I should get downstairs. The others will need me.”

Amari’s expression was still pained, but there was respect in her eyes. “Good luck, Professor.”

Ilya smiled grimly. “Our telecoms group have set up cameras pretty much everywhere, streaming over single-use private channels back to Oasis. Just... use that footage. Make sure the world sees what is happening here today."

Another _whump_ , ringing against the hardlight, the first blast having broken through some part of the building's outer wall.

"I would hate for all of this to have been for nothing.”

“They will see,” Fareeha swore. “You have my word. They _will_.”

**Author's Note:**

> This is the eleventh instalment of _Of Gods and Monsters: The Arc of Conflict_. To follow the story, [subscribe to the series via this link](https://archiveofourown.org/series/972024), rather than to the individual works.


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